to delete message, press seven
by Lint
Summary: They tried, okay? It didn't work. Dan, Blair. Post Damien Darko.


_Hey, so I'm at the Morgan. Not that I expected you would be but, yeah. I'm just going to say the appeal isn't making itself evident at first glance, and even if you talked it up more than it's deserving, I can see why you love it. The walls just scream Blair Waldorf. Uh, not that I'm trying to get inside your head or anything. Been there, failed miserably. If you show up, I'm around. If not? Then I'm sorry you missed this because of me. _

/\

He keeps leaving messages.

The first fifty or so all apologetic and self depreciating in nature, him rambling on about self motivation and idiocy, both so very obvious. But she can appreciate the fact that he feels the need to spell it out in length, enjoying that he takes little pot shots at himself, thinking it will get her to talk to him again, only ever stopping when the time runs out.

She's grown used to seeing the voicemail icon pop up on her phone every chance she has to check it. He leaves so many she starts hitting ignore instead of bothering to listen, but is sure to check today because plans were made. Plans she has no intention of keeping after what he did, but her suspicion that he would show up anyway is proven by his call.

It's easy to imagine him wandering around an endless display of mannequin ballerinas, scrunching up his face and actually trying to understand just what she sees when calling something beautiful.

Pushing the thought away, she sips absently at her coffee, glancing down at her phone as it goes off again.

God, no wonder Humphrey took so much abuse from Serena. He is clearly unable to take any kind of hint, passive aggressive as hers may be, that the girl he keeps chasing doesn't want him to.

She silences the ringer rather than hitting ignore, staring at the letters of his name flashing on the screen, and tells herself she'll wait at least an hour before checking his progress through the art of frilly dresses and tutus.

/\/\/\

_Um, apparently I have a roommate. Which is… unexpected. I mean I understand my dad is just trying to do the right thing, but you'd think that being bunk mates with a guy who just got out of prison would at least warrant a conversation. Oh, the cherry on top of this Bosom Buddy sundae is that Serena is clearly crushing on the guy. Uh, sorry. I know me talking to you about her is about as fun as you talking to me about Chuck. Anyway, I don't know what do, and your severe lack of tact would be appreciated. _

/\

Her face goes sour when the message ends. What was Rufus thinking just handing keys to the loft over to a man he barely knows, just did hard time, and is his stepdaughter's latest would be prince charming?

Not that she cares if Humphrey's living situation just took a turn onto total drama parkway, but not even he deserves such a ridiculous cohabitation because Lily's criminal mastermind past came to bite her in the ass.

And the timing? Well, that couldn't be worse. Dan finally severed the chord of he and Serena's will-they-won't-they epic love, something that made him mildly more interesting, and actually started to stand on his own two feet. He doesn't need her over there every day trying to get Ben the jailbird to fall madly in love with her. (The fact that he isn't already, a challenge to overcome.)

Telling herself once more that she doesn't care, she tosses the phone into her bag and waves for a taxi.

/\/\/\

_Sabrina is playing at the Carlton theatre tonight at six and I thought… Look, I'm buying two tickets, and I promise I'll sit the requisite two seats away and won't be stingy with the popcorn. I'll wait in the lobby until it starts. Just come, okay? Please. _

/\

It's 9:35 when she gets the message.

A ping of disappointment swirls uncomfortably in her chest, not that she could have gone, having spent the last five hours reorganizing thirteen racks of a new spring line from some designer with a completely unpronounceable name.

Not that she _would_ have gone.

Humphrey thinks he's being clever, tempting her with Audrey and popcorn he ends up sharing anyway. Two tickets and waiting in the lobby a scenario easily shot in black at white, the leading man and woman greeting each other with charming smiles.

They tried, okay? It didn't work.

Despite some common ground and shared interests, they simply weren't meant to be friends.

Scrolling to his name, she almost calls if only to tell him to stop. Stop calling her, stop rambling so endlessly in her ear when she could be doing a million other things instead of listening, stop saying her name in a way that makes them seem like they weren't some kind of morbid curiosity.

Just stop.

/\/\/\

_I guess I thought I was being your friend. I mean, that's what you do to each other isn't it? All the scheming and mind games your little click can handle, but you end up forgiving one another in the end, don't you? I can't play in that sandbox, I know. You think I'd, ha. You think I'd have learned by now… _

_You hate me, I get it. The world makes sense again. _

/\

Clearly he'd been drinking.

Some of the words coming out too slow or slightly slurred. She can see him sitting on the edge of his bed, cradling the phone in one hand and nursing a beer (as if she'd taught him nothing) with the other.

She doesn't hate him.

Hates that he's making her feel like this, yes. Like she's the one doing wrong by not letting the betrayal go. Because he's a nice guy, because he didn't really mean it. And while any of those things could be true, the cold hard fact remains, he did do it.

What really stings is that she wanted to play it the way she always had, but chose not to because Dan Humphrey of all people didn't deserve it. Because he's not like everyone else she knows. Because he's (supposed to be) different.

Yes, he did the noble thing and sacrificed his own internship just to win hers back. And yes, that does count for something.

But it's not enough.

/\/\/\

A week passes.

She gets a hundred and two text messages, thirty-eight emails, and seventeen voice mails.

None of them from Dan.

The absence of his voice is annoyingly noticeable.

She would do something about it, but their schedules don't mix, so it's not as if there's a chance she'll happen to run into him in some serendipitous moment. Acting like the whole thing wasn't planned from the start.

Sighing in frustration at such a ridiculous thought, she collapses on her bed, burying her face into the blankets.

They were never friends, she tells herself for the umpteenth time.

It's starting to feel like a lie.

/\/\/\

"Expecting someone?" Serena asks from her perch on the opposite end of the couch, magazine held casually in hand.

"What?" Blair flinches. "No. What?"

"That's the fifth time," she continues, nodding at where the phone sits on the end table. "I've seen you check that thing, in like ten minutes. Must be pretty important."

Blair freezes, willing an excuse to form.

"My boss," she replies easily. "I might be needed today."

The stack of articles resting in her lap that she's currently proofreading is a solid selling point. So it's not a total lie. And she technically is on call whenever she might be needed, so her boss' name could pop up, but it's not the one she keeps looking for.

Two weeks after he finally gets the hint, and she's only now realizing that she wishes he hadn't.

/\

The look on his face when he opens the door is a picture she wants to keep in her pocket. Equal parts shock and awe that's she's standing at his doorstep, her first reciprocal contact since storming out on him.

He doesn't invite her in, continuing to gape until she pokes him hard in the chest.

"I don't hate you," she says, pushing past him and into the loft.

His laugh sounds relieved.

She doesn't let him see her smile.

/\/\/\

Her phone goes off halfway across the bridge, but she lets it ring.

Checking the message when the cab pulls in front of her building, Dan's voice fills her ear.

"_I don't hate you, too." _


End file.
